


Of Space and Scientists

by agentverbivore (verbivore8642)



Series: Ficlets [10]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, Dancing, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Healing, Healing Sex, IN SPACE!, Kissing, Late Night Conversations, Making Out, Making Up, Near Future, Oblique Mentions of Canon Noncon, Oral Sex, Outer Space, POV Jemma Simmons, POV Leo Fitz, Psychological Trauma, Reconciliation, Recovery, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Dancing, Space Stations, Surprise Kissing, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-05 10:44:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11011836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbivore8642/pseuds/agentverbivore
Summary: As the SHIELD team begins to work alongside SWORD on the Space Station Peak, Fitz and Jemma find themselves circling their way back towards each other. Slowly, shyly, inevitably.A series of ficlets about FitzSimmons post-season 4 that may or may not be connected to each other. Less speculation and more wishful thinking.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing a few of these season 4 pseudo-spec (but not really spec, because we don't actually know enough about season 5 yet) ficlets for my fic anniversary celebration, and since some of these will connect I figured it'd make the most sense to group them all together. 
> 
> As with my other ficlet collections (Daydreams and Seychelles Snapshots), check the ratings & A/N for each chapter. 
> 
> Comments make my heart sing! ;-)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To celebrate 3 years of me writing FitzSimmons fanfic, I'm doing a [giveaway on my tumblr](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/160844997228/on-may-24-2014-about-a-week-and-a-half-after-the)! Ficlets will be posted here as I finish them.
> 
>  
> 
> _jemmasimmonsy asked for a fix-it spaceship UST drabble, and fitzsimmonsavengers asked for "anything with FS in space." hope you enjoy!_
> 
> Rated T. Post-season 4, current canon compliant (eventual canon divergent). Vague mentions of canonical noncon.
> 
> [Tumblr post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/161130722818/hey-verby-i-know-you-suggested-this-prompt-in).

At first, peace for Fitz only came in breathing. He could not change the past, he could not control the feeling of violation or the future that might have been stolen from him – but he could breathe. So whenever he felt overwhelmed, whenever the screams in his head became too loud or the memory of touches he never wanted were too potent, he would put his head between his knees and he would breathe.

Months passed. The team became used to living on [the Peak](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/S.W.O.R.D._\(comics\)), adjusted to this strange new reality of existing separate from planet. This innate difference, that feeling of being unmoored, had shocked even Jemma, who had whispered to him early on about how Maveth had sometimes felt just like their own Earth, especially when she closed her eyes or dug her fingers into the sand. Agent Brand told them they would all adjust, and, of course, they did. Daisy spent weeks distracted by the otherness to outer space-bound vibrations, which was accompanied by a lot of Beach Boys jokes and even more eye-rolling. 

It took a long time for Fitz to unlearn wanting to touch Jemma, but he tried all the same. Not necessarily sexually, not with any strings attached, just the brush of his fingers against her lower back, or resting one hand on her shoulder, or letting his side lean slightly against hers as they worked – all of those things had become as natural as breathing to him. As he learned to rely on breathing to ground him, so he had to remember to give her back the space she surely wanted. About two weeks after he had managed to learn to keep his hands to himself, Jemma confronted him. She wasn’t going to let him withdraw from her completely, she said, not when she suspected he didn’t actually want to. Fitz didn’t argue. 

More months passed. At long last, Fitz’s insomnia abated enough that he was able to sleep through the night – with medication, but sleep was sleep. SWORD’s resident psychologist said that was a huge improvement all on its own, even without all the other progress he was making. As time ticked on, the memories of the Framework began to lack color; this was the only way he could think to describe it to the stoic, thoughtful woman sitting across the small space station room from him. The way they faded was different from his genuine memories; not quite like the memory of a dream, but not as sharp as reality either. When Fitz tried to talk about the relief he felt for this, sobs bubbled unexpectedly up from his throat. What right, he said, did he have to forget the horrible things he’d done? The psychologist looked at him with the same expression as everyone else on the team, the one that wanted to ask: _But did_ you _do them_? There were still things they had to work out, but he was trying.

Jemma beamed at him every time he returned from an appointment, often ready with a 3D printed snack or hot mug of tea. The two of them still spent most of their time together, during either work or leisure, and the gratefulness he felt was only dimmed by the far more potent guilt that still weighed down every second that he was conscious – and many that he was unconscious, too. But time passed and it became easier for him to just enjoy being around Jemma, just as he’d spent a dozen years of his real life. The best years. The ones that he was now trying to remember as much of as possible, as if he could burn them onto the backs of his eyelids or overwrite everything else in the darkest recesses of his mind. Being around her helped, more than he could ever express. 

Eventually, he began to dream about Jemma. These dreams were the kind he was embarrassed to describe to the psychologist, the kind that on the Bus he was mortified to have had, the kind that in the Playground he used to whisper into Jemma’s ear and feel her shiver in response. He found himself watching her in ways he had tried to forbid himself, eyes trailing over her exposed clavicle or the curve of her bum or the arch of her top lip. Sometimes, ages back, he’d thought he’d caught her watching his hands, but her eyes had darted away and if she ever stared at him, she became much better at hiding it. It took all of Fitz’s willpower to stay away, to return to his miniscule, single-bed bunk and spend his nights alone.

One day – well, it wasn’t truly day, since there was no sun by which to tell the time and instead the hours were set arbitrarily by the Peak’s mainframe, as Fitz had to wearily remind Daisy over and over again. But, for all intents and purposes, it was during their day that the station had come under attack. The spec-ops and Inhuman agents had gone with Agent Brand’s team to stop an invasion, and the Peak was within minutes of imploding and taking every living thing still on board with it. While Mack worked furiously within the main engine room to fix the problem, Fitz and Jemma were left with the unappealing task of donning spacesuits, clambering onto the outer shell of the station, and making the last critical repairs manually. 

As Fitz followed her out into the vacuum of space, she reached for and grabbed his hand, their fingers coming clumsily together in the large white enclosures. For exactly two seconds, they paused, staring out at the vast, silent emptiness that stretched on and on beyond the steel edges of the Peak. Then they got to work, spending the next half an hour conferring frantically over their comms about the life-or-death work they were now doing. A loud beep sounded from the engine room, and Mack let out a sigh of relief – they’d done it. The space station was stable.

Climbing back through the hatch into the ante room from which they had exited was something more of an adventure than Fitz would have liked, but before long the room was sealed and they were both inside. A loud click-hiss sounded in stereo as they removed their translucent helmets simultaneously, and Jemma was laughing in exhilaration and relief before she’d even shaken out her hair.

Fitz ran a shaking hand through the curls he’d been growing while out in space, thinking about the hundreds – no, thousands of lives he’d just helped save. Real lives, real people and aliens and living creatures that would continue to exist in this universe, in this _real_ universe, because of the fix that he had designed. Adrenaline thrummed through him, and as Jemma hopped over to pat him excitedly on the chest, her eyes shining in admiration, he reached down without thinking to cup her chin in his hands and kiss her soundly. He realized his mistake just as he reached her mouth, but before he could halt his momentum, Jemma was curling her hands around his neck and pressing their lips together.

With a groan, he surrendered to his instincts, the feeling of her mouth soft and hot and pliant against his too addictive to resist. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he backed them up to one of the storage units, the drawers rattling at the impact. When she tried to wrap her arms more tightly around his shoulders, she was stymied by the broad collar of the suit and she let out a noise of frustration, pulling away from his mouth just long enough to rip open the back of the enclosure and shove it down to his waist. While she worked, Fitz could only stare at the dark flush to her mouth, at the sensual pink curve of her bottom lip that he’d so missed during their time apart, and once she’d shimmied out of the top half of her own suit he leaned down to capture her mouth with his again.

Jemma sighed against him, breath hitching as he grabbed onto her waist and lifted her onto the top of the nearest storage unit. This gave him something to lean on as he stepped back into her space, his brain having shut off other than the blind need to kiss and kiss and kiss the love of his life until he couldn’t breathe. Her hands clutched him just as tightly, and he let out a small groan against her lips when she wrapped one leg around his bum.

“Fitz,” she murmured, and exhilaration at something as simple as hearing Jemma whisper his name sped through his whole body. Fitz angled her lips apart to slide their tongues together, the familiar heat and friction and desire forcing sense even further from the forefront of his mind. “Fitz,” she said again, more urgently this time, and he froze. Terror and shame washed over him as he realized he hadn’t even asked first, had only paid attention to her enthusiastic reciprocation, and hastily moved away.

Or at least, he tried to – Jemma’s legs hooked around his bum and her hands curled around his shoulder-blades kept him from actually separating from her as he’d intended.

“Don’t regret this,” she blurted, cheeks pinking as they stared at each other. “I mean, God, please don’t. I don’t. I just – I just wanted to ask. Or, to say. Are you – I mean, this is fast for you, isn’t it? I want... but I don’t want to go too fast.” He stared mutely down at her, unsure how to answer, and she winced, wrapping one hand tightly into the soft white cotton of his undershirt. “I just want you to be okay.” 

Her voice was so quiet he could barely hear her underneath the air control systems’ hum, and if he didn’t know it were physically impossible, Fitz might think his heart actually skipped a beat. She had never looked as beautiful to him as she did in that moment, without makeup and hair a staticky mess from being in the helmet, and gazing intently up at him as she tried to read the expression on his face.

“You’re right,” he said after a few, long moments of contemplative silence. “I’m probably – not ready. For more than... than this. But this was....” Fitz trailed off, brows furrowing as he tried to find a word that adequately encompassed the mix of adoration, arousal, joy, and relief that he had felt as they’d kissed. Another thought occurred to him, and he flitted his eyes nervously up to meet hers. “You, um, didn’t mind?”

“ _Mind_ ,” she breathed incredulously. Her hands reached up to gently cup his jaw, fingertips scratching against his stubble. “Fitz,” she continued at last, “I want to be with you even if we can never do... this again. Kissing, or more than that. I will be _with_ you. But I....” A low chuckle slipped out of her throat, and she gave him a bashful smile. “I’ve been dreaming about kissing you for months. About... if I’m being honest, about much more than that, but I really, truly don’t want to push you or seem like I’m... waiting for that. I’m not. I want to be what you need. Whatever you need. Okay?” 

Fitz blinked, and tears dripped onto his cheeks, catching him off-guard. He hadn’t even noticed his eyes welling up, or the distinct sense of being overwhelmed spreading through his chest. With a slow exhale, Jemma pressed their foreheads together.

“I love you, Fitz. Whatever else you’re thinking, please remember that.”

“I do,” he said, sniffling and reaching up to swipe at his cheeks. “I can’t believe it sometimes, but I do.” He gave himself a few moments to get his breathing under control, nuzzling briefly at Jemma’s nose and taking immense comfort from her physical presence and this exact kind of closeness. “You’re right –”

“Always,” she interrupted, teasing, and he let out a small laugh.

“That I can’t do more yet,” he continued, bumping their noses together again. “But this was good. Really good. Really, _really_ –” 

“I get it, Fitz.” She was grinning, a light hovering behind her expression that he hadn’t seen in far too long. 

“So maybe we can....” Inhaling, Fitz kept his eyes on hers as he leaned forward, waiting for the second that her gaze lit with understanding before pressing their lips together once more. Jemma sighed happily into his mouth, scooting a little closer to the edge of the storage unit and wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

They were both a bit sticky from sweating into their spacesuits, and this antechamber was not exactly the most romantic of places to rediscover each other. But as he poured himself into kissing her, sliding one hand into her hair and parting her lips so their tongues could brush together, tentative at first then firmer, better, hotter, he decided that this felt just about right after all. Fitz breathed Jemma in, believing at last that true peace might one day be in his grasp again – as long as they were together.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To celebrate 3 years of me writing FitzSimmons fanfic, I'm doing a [giveaway on my tumblr](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/160844997228/on-may-24-2014-about-a-week-and-a-half-after-the)! Ficlets will be posted here as I finish them.
> 
> _agentlukaofshield asked for "things you said at 1 am."_
> 
> Rated T. Post-season 4, current canon compliant (eventual canon divergent). Vague mentions of canonical noncon.
> 
> [Tumblr post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/161222217886/hey-there-grats-on-writing-so-much-about-our).

Sometimes when Jemma awoke in the middle of the night, she thought about Daisy’s old favorite joke that she and Fitz were psychically linked. These days, Jemma wished it were true more than ever. Perhaps then she could shoulder some of his burden, perhaps then it wouldn’t pain him so much. Perhaps then she could truly, finally understand.

Because she didn’t understand. She couldn’t. Even as far as her natural empathy took her, there was no way for her to truly understand what was going on in his head after the sustained, traumatic abuse he’d suffered. And on nights like this, she wanted to know what he was thinking more than ever.

While watching an ancient episode of _The Twilight Zone_ late one night – the Peak’s entertainment catalogue was somewhat lacking in current fare – the two of them had fallen asleep on Fitz’s bed. The space station’s cots were even smaller than those on the Bus, which Jemma once hadn’t thought possible.

(Coulson had lucked out and been assigned to what was technically a storage room in the midst of being re-appropriated while the Peak incorporated its seven temporary new team members. In theory, he would be reassigned an actual bunk shortly, but somehow that order hadn’t yet come down the pipeline. Daisy liked to mutter conspiratorially about Coulson using his super-spy powers to arrange this, but neither Jemma nor Fitz were convinced it was more than atypically lucky red-tape bureaucracy at work.)

Jemma stirred first, feeling somewhat squashed but pleasantly so, and it took her a few seconds to remember that having Fitz wrapped koala-like around her was no longer commonplace. The side of his dresser was pressed uncomfortably against her shoulders, with him having burrowed his head into the crook of her neck and pushed her slightly backwards while they slept. Despite the low level of discomfort, she felt unspeakably content, and she allowed her fingers to trail up and card through the mess of his curls. They had spent so many months keeping themselves carefully apart that this kind of closeness still brought with it an acute sense of relief.

Suddenly, she felt all of Fitz’s muscles stiffen at once, and he reared back, with her just barely managing to avoid his skull and her chin colliding.

“What –?!” he muttered hoarsely, pushing out of her embrace and looking wildly around in disorientation and fear.

“It’s okay,” she started, trying to both reach out and soothe while also not hindering his escape if he wanted it.

“ _Jemma_.” As soon as his eyes caught sight of her face, his muscles relaxed and he stopped moving backwards. Sagging against the mattress, he scooted back into her arms and dropped his head against the pillow they’d been sharing. “Oh God, it’s just you. It’s you.” His voice was laced with affection and relief so potent it made her want to cry, and she screwed her face up against empathetic tears as she reeled him closer in, letting him cling to her as tightly as he wanted.

“It’s me,” she murmured into his hair, encouraging him to tuck his head back beneath her chin and again wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “Yeah, it’s me.”

For a few minutes, they lay together in silence. A fine tremor ran through Fitz and prompted Jemma to try to hold him more tightly, as if the perfect hug could make his nightmares disappear.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last, words muffled by her skin. “It’s – it’s been a long time since I’ve woken up with someone there, and… I… I dunno where that came from.”

Her lips thinned, and she distracted herself by pressing a kiss to his hair. They both knew what he’d been afraid of, in whose arms he’d thought himself trapped during that brief moment of barely-awake terror. Jemma swallowed down the anger that washed through her veins for the hundredth time, biting back the bile that rose at the remembrance that someone had done something (so many things, unspeakable things) so vile to her favorite person in the universe. If the android weren’t already long since exterminated, Jemma would happily kill her again and again, a part of her itching for the satisfaction of the vengeance she had watched Coulson enact.

The anger leeched away again almost immediately, though, as she focused on the man in front of her. “You don’t have to apologize,” she said. “Not to me, ever.” After a moment, she added what she worried he kept forgetting: “I love you, Fitz.”

As his breathing evened out, she continued scratching her fingers through his hair. It was a bit like she was petting him, but since he just settled himself more comfortably in her arms she assumed he didn’t mind. The thought that she missed the days when touching had been so easy between them flitted through her head, and, aside from a familiar vein of guilt, she noted again that this was something she would never tell Fitz. Wishing for things that could not and would never be was pointless.

“I don’t understand,” he said after another long silence. “Why you’re still here. Why you… love me.”

His statement felt like a slap across her face, and Jemma had to bite hard onto her tongue to keep herself calm. “Fitz –” she started, voice already shakier than she wanted.

Fitz interrupted her again, shifting back but keeping his hold around her. “No, just – let me finish. I was thinking about it during the episode, just trying to understand it. It just doesn’t make sense to me. You deserve to love someone who… who isn’t….”

Jemma tried to let him talk, she really did, but as he fumbled for the next words, she _had_ to interject. The whole subject was making her chest ache. “Isn’t the love of my life? Or my best friend in the world?”

Swallowing, Fitz stared up at her for a few moments, irises a deep navy in the darkness. “I just – don’t understand,” he continued, almost sounding helpless, “but I think that I just won’t. I don’t think I _can_ understand it. It’s not like – debugging a line of code, or, um, the way I feel about you. Y’know, I understand _that_. Those things. So when you say you feel like that, when you say you love me, I just….” He sighed, twisting his mouth to the side before finishing. “I have to believe it. And that’s hard, I think. It doesn’t come naturally. But I do believe you,” he said quietly, reaching up to tuck hair behind her ear. “I think I’m there now. Where I believe you.”

A couple errant tears slid down Jemma’s cheeks as she blinked into a relieved smile, and she nuzzled forward to press their foreheads together. “Thank you.”

He gave her a half-smile, and then pursed his lips, letting his gaze drop from hers. “I…” he started, before pausing and licking his lips. “I wish I could….” Huffing, he reached around so he could entwine their fingers and bring their hands up to rest between their chests. “Never mind.”

“No, tell me. Please. What?”

Fitz sighed. “I wish I could do something, y’know, to show you. How that makes me feel. Happy, grateful… everything. I just –”

“Being here with me is all I need from you,” she replied quietly, speaking over his halting explanation. “And – well, this. The talking. Having you talk to me like this makes me terribly happy, Fitz, it really does.”

With a slight inhale, he let go of her hand to reach up and trace the path of her scattered, fallen tears. “Happy?”

“Yes,” she said, more firmly this time. “Happy. Sometimes there are tears, but I _am_ happy, Fitz. It makes me happy to be with you, to see you, um, coming back to yourself. Bit by bit. And if we stay just like this, if this is as far as you get, I’ll still be happy.”

He studied her face for a few long seconds, eventually tangling their fingers together again and then pressing a kiss to the back of her knuckles. “I love you, Jemma Simmons.”

“I love you right back, Leo Fitz,” she whispered into a smile. “Even if you don’t understand it.” 

At least, Jemma thought to herself as she snuggled closer in, delaying the moment when she would inevitably have to return to her own minuscule bed, they each were still trying to understand something about the other. The important thing was that they kept trying to understand, and that they did it together.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To celebrate 3 years of me writing FitzSimmons fanfic, I'm doing a [giveaway on my tumblr](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/160844997228/on-may-24-2014-about-a-week-and-a-half-after-the)! Ficlets will be posted here as I finish them.
> 
> _anythas-thoughts requested "something fluffy post season 4." hope this is just the right amount of fluff. ;-)_
> 
> Rated G. Post-season 4, current canon compliant (eventual canon divergent). Super fluff.
> 
> [Tumblr post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/161252859600/congratulations-for-you-milestone-i-wouldnt-mind).

Everyone on the space station was abuzz with the possibility for an Earth-bound mission departing sometime soon, so Jemma wasn’t sure if she was feeding off of that or was imagining things (or not). But for the past two days, Fitz had been behaving atypically squirrelly and seemingly avoiding her, and it hurt her more than she cared to admit. Even if they were sort-of-mostly dating (Still? Again? They hadn’t quite defined it yet), they were not, after all, glued to each others’ sides, and nor should they be. With their steady but tentative patching up of their relationship around Fitz’s healing, though, his strange and unprompted behavior had caught her off-guard.

Because their bunks were minuscule and the space station’s rules on fraternization were opaque, to say the least, they were still spending their nights alone. Whenever they could sneak away or had free time that they could spend together, however, they had been happily easing their way back towards a romantic and physical relationship much more alike the one they’d both been enjoying before the Framework had forcibly turned everything upside down. At the beginning of the week, Fitz had even tugged Jemma into a storage closet for a clandestine snog, which had made her positively giddy.

Then, barely two days later, he had begun acting vague and unduly distracted around her, from when she spoke to him at work and to when he’d scoot off to be on his own. Even though she tried to tell herself he was probably just working on getting the Peak’s camouflage up and running, and that she really should try to avoid being clingy, his behavior was making her antsy. It was a clear sign that she was still recovering from their forced separation, too, Jemma pointed out to herself, and attempted to keep her mind on her work.

One afternoon following a long day in the lab, Fitz sidled up alongside Jemma as she was finishing tidying up her workstation. “Hey,” he said, giving her a small smile that she returned, “what’re you doing tonight?”

She chuckled and slipped her plain white lab coat off her arms. “Intergalactic surf competition. You?”

Fitz rolled his eyes, and she noticed that he was twisting his right-hand thumb into his left palm, a clear sign of either nerves or distraction. “Howabout dinner? You and me?”

“Alright,” she responded, any further words halted by him reaching down and wrapping his fingers around her hand.

As he tugged her into the sterile, aged steel hallway, he glanced up at her. “Is this – okay?”

Jemma wound their hands more firmly together and smiled. “I was just thinking that they’re not exactly, um – we don’t exactly know Agent Brand’s policy on indentured agents doing….” She raised their hands between them, but tightened her fingers. “But if you don’t care, I don’t care.”

The hesitant expression on his face morphed into a combination of little-boy excitement and familiar adoration, and it made her stomach swoop. “Yeah, okay. Good.”

When he set off in the direction of the space station’s residences, however, she frowned and didn’t quite follow, causing him to lurch halfway forward and then turn back. “The mess hall’s the other way.”

Fitz’s smile was a hair short of mischievous this time, and she raised an eyebrow. “I know. Trust me.”

They set off to the habitation deck, in comfortable silence and walking side by side. Eventually, he slowed them in front of the spare strategy room that was currently serving as Coulson’s bunk. Letting go of her hand, Fitz heaved a deep breath and then swung the door open, holding it for her and looking immediately for her reaction. Jemma let out a puff of air, taking in the expanse of space and asteroid rubble that stretched out beyond the viewing window. In the middle of the room was a small table set for two, including a white tablecloth, a lit candlestick, and bottle of wine. When she blinked and took a few steps into the room – giving Fitz enough space to close the door behind them – she realized that the wine was her favorite kind.

“Oh _Fitz_ ,” she whispered. “What is this for?”

“For you,” he answered simply, stepping up beside her to admire the view. “It’s been a really long time since we’ve been on a date, y’know, and I thought it would be nice. Took me a few days to figure out how to convince ‘em to let me borrow one of those.” He gestured at the perishables-coded 3D printer that she hadn’t even noticed was pushed to the side of the room, a grey, neck-height tower with long wires stretching along the wall and out beneath the door. “Bent the truth a bit to convince ‘em,” he muttered, rubbing his neck and tilting his mouth up bashfully. “I mean, a lot. Said it was for my treatment by Dr. Iort. But Coulson knows the real reason. Though he said the bed was off-limits.”

Jemma laughed, shaking her head at the mildly embarrassing thought of their friend and colleague having to give them that rule. Before she could make a joke in return, Fitz was cupping her jaw and angling her head back so he could kiss her soundly. With a pleased hum, she kissed him back, curling her fingers into the fabric of his shirt and slipping her tongue into his mouth.

“Was that you saying we’re about to ignore Coulson’s rule?” she said rather breathlessly a few minutes later, feeling half-dazed as she leaned contentedly into Fitz’s embrace.

“What? No!” he spluttered, cheeks flushing slightly. “I – we’re not rea– we talked –”

“I know,” she interrupted, reaching up to smooth her hand against his cheek. “I was kidding, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, right.” Fitz pressed one more chaste kiss to her lips, and then turned to a table next to the 3D printer. After a few seconds of fiddling with what appeared to be a very old cassette player – _where_ had the Peak managed to get its strange combination of ancient and top-of-the-line supplies? – tinny music faded into the room.

Jemma made a low, impressed noise, reaching out again for Fitz’s hand, and then wrinkled her nose. “Is that… isn’t that from [the _Dirty Dancing_ soundtrack](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Farchiveofourown.org%2Fworks%2F9769109&t=MDQ2NzUwMDBiOTkxMWQzYWRkODZiZGM2MmQxNzcyNGU4N2U1N2NkNCxtUWVlTDc1RQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AkgUJ1EiH6Y6Yw42mlpnRxg&p=http%3A%2F%2Fagentverbivore.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F161252859600%2Fcongratulations-for-you-milestone-i-wouldnt-mind&m=0)?”

“Yeah, that’s what the tape is,” he said, returning and tangling their fingers together. “Didn’t have the biggest selection, but I figured this’d be, um, romantic enough. I haven’t actually seen the movie.”

Tugging him in towards her, Jemma settled his other hand on her hip and raised their entwined hands to shoulder-height. “Then we should do at least a little dancing, don’t you think?” She gave him a wide smile as she rested her hand on his shoulder and began to sway them side-to-side.

Fitz frowned, glancing worriedly down at their feet. “Y’know I don’t really dance, Jemma.”

“This counts,” she insisted, and then leaned in to rest her head on his shoulder, forehead pressed against his slightly scruffy neck and eyes trailing over to their spectacular view of the asteroid belt.

Jemma sighed and allowed herself to relax against Fitz, drinking in the surprise, the view, and the feeling of him holding her tightly. Although the day itself had been a bit monotonous, it had turned into something magnificent.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To celebrate 3 years of me writing FitzSimmons fanfic, I did a [giveaway on my tumblr](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/160844997228/on-may-24-2014-about-a-week-and-a-half-after-the)! Ficlets have been collected here as I finished them.
> 
> _eclecticmuses asked: for your fic giveaway thing - the first time Fitz feels ready to have sex with Jemma post-season 4, through dealing with his trauma. Can be as silly, fluffy, angsty, or drama-filled as you like, or a combination of it all, or as smutty or fade-to-black as you like. However you feel it should go!_
> 
> Rated a solid **M** for sexual content  & vague mentions of canon noncon. Sex positive/focused. emotionally follows the previous three ficlets in this collection.
> 
> [Tumblr post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/161285980213/for-your-fic-giveaway-thing-the-first-time-fitz).

Sex was making Leopold Fitz very anxious.

~

Jemma’s breast was soft and pliant beneath his hand, and even the lightest touches made her muscles twitch and her mouth go slack with pleasure. They were locked in one of the engineering deck’s storage closets, her shapeless blue uniform shirt rucked up to her neck and her legs wrapped around his bum. Fitz’s brain had long since shut down, all of his focus having narrowed to the reactions of his girlfriend and the taste of her skin on his tongue. With one smooth motion, he slid her hips forward on the storage unit until he could grind more fully against her, the sound of his name falling sharply from her lips as she shut her eyes and threw her head back. The way she clung to his shoulders and rocked against him, in sync and needy and so bloody sexy, made him want to reach for the fasteners of his trousers, made him want to yank hers off without even waiting. Made him want to sink roughly inside her, want to make her cry his name out over and over as if she’d forgotten any other word, as they’d done more than once in the Playground’s supply rooms.

Then images from the life that wasn’t his flashed abruptly into his head and he froze, bile rising in his throat as he pressed his face against Jemma’s neck. Whenever this happened, the false memories (some implanted, some more real than he could bear) were hard to stop, usually causing him to withdraw from his girlfriend (the one he wanted, the one he’d chosen, the one he’d always choose as long as she let him) in a panic. Today, he just clung to her until he could suck in a deep breath of recycled air. This wasn’t as bad as it could be, as it had been before, but it was still enough to signal the end of this particular tryst.

If she was confused by his sudden change of pace, Jemma didn’t show it, briefly undulating her hips again and mouth blindly trailing along his cheek before she caught on. Her hands slid up over his back, along his arms and then up to card through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, frustrated with himself and sick to his stomach that they couldn’t yet consummate their relationship as they had before. “We need to slow down.”

“That’s okay,” she said gently and for the thousandth time in the past month. Her lips brushed against his temple, and she leaned into his hold, briefly reaching up to tug down her shirt.

Her voice made it sound as if it actually was _okay_ , as if she didn’t mind, but when Fitz leaned a little more heavily against her and rested one hand on the steel cabinet, he could feel the way her voice was a front. He could feel the ache of desire radiating through her, her muscles unnaturally taut and slow to relax, and he could hear the resignation in her heavy breaths. Jemma might intellectually be okay with Fitz never getting past his traumatic mental block, but her body was not. And, to be frank, he wasn’t okay with it either.

~

Sex was making Leopold Fitz very anxious.

When he and Jemma had first started having sex, he hadn’t really had time to be nervous. They’d been busy working, and then had fallen together in Bucharest so quickly that he hadn’t had a chance to get much past desire and excitement and move on to anxiety or overthinking. At the time, he’d considered that a blessing and a perk of their ever-hectic lives.

But trapped in space, it seemed that all he did was think. And it was driving him mad.

His psychologist told him that following his instincts to wait was the right thing to do, and Jemma vehemently agreed. No matter how many aborted make-out sessions they had, she always shifted to accommodate him, whether that meant physical space or just halting the action. The problem was that even if he knew he wasn’t ready for the kind of vulnerability that came with sex, or for that very specific (once freeing, now paralyzing) lack of control, he wanted to do _something_ more. For himself, as well as for her.

What he missed the most was not even that frantic rush to the finish line, that white heat of release and endorphins and sweat, but the feeling of being a part of Jemma, of their bodies merging until he couldn’t tell where he ended and she began. The moments when even their hearts beat in time, eyes catching whenever they weren’t fluttering closed and words becoming irrelevant. Late at night, when Fitz lay in his space station bunk and missed being able to wake up to Jemma’s head on his chest, he tortured himself with an infinite reel of love and surrender and ecstasy he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to experience again.

But he’d be damned if he didn’t keep trying.

~

Sex was making Leopold Fitz very anxious.

Yet, it was becoming all he could think about. An idea occurred to him before his next therapy appointment, born of the frequently filthy dreams he’d had recently starring Jemma, and Dr. Iort thought it was worth trying. The tricky part would be getting his girlfriend to agree.

One evening, after a lazy, end-of-day snog session in Jemma’s bunk, they were lying side by side as they caught their breaths. Fitz shifted over so he could watch her where she lay, the lengths of their bodies pressed tightly against each other on the cramped cot. When his fingertips brushed her cheek, tucking away a few strands of hair, she hummed and tilted her head against his palm. Although he was already debating how to form the suggestion he wanted to make, he had to admit that there was something rather fun about making out like teenagers. They’d never really had that early stage of a relationship, the heated looks across a lab or post-date explorations that led to more and more line crossing.

Jemma let out a happy sigh, reaching up to take his hand and tangle their fingers together. “I’ve been thinking about this all day.”

“Me too,” he said quietly, snuggling forward to press a scratchy kiss to the underside of her jaw. “Hate being assigned to the engine rooms.”

“Mack needed your expertise,” she reminded him, and he sighed, noting the fine tremor that went through her at the wash of his warm breath.

“I know, I don’t mind that. I want to help.” He nuzzled against her skin to distract himself from the thought that _helping_ would never be enough penance for the destruction and death his actions had wrought back on Earth. “I miss getting to see you all the time. Getting to watch you work.”

Flirting had never been his forte, but when Jemma turned to meet his gaze again her eyes had darkened ever-so-slightly. “Oh?”

“Always liked watching you work,” he murmured, ghosting their lips together. “I mean, didn’t really figure out why until we were older, but.”

She let out an intrigued hum, parting her lips before the next kiss so their tongues could brush together, reigniting the heat they’d let simmer. “You _are_ interesting,” she said when they separated, eyes shining as she stared up at him. “You know, I…” she started, pausing to laugh. “Earlier, I was thinking about how much I miss sleeping together.” Grinning at his raised eyebrow, she shook her head. “Not _that_ kind of – not the euphemism. I meant actually sleeping. But these beds are so bloody narrow, and the rooms are _so_ cold. It’s awful, I miss having you there to warm me up at night.” His wry smile widened and she rolled her eyes. “Oh, fine, but you know what I meant.”

“Actually,” he started, sucking in a nervous breath, “I’ve been thinking about that, too. I – well, both I guess, but I meant the other one. The euphemism.” Jemma’s eyebrows raised to her hairline, and he forced himself to barrel onward. “I’m not ready for the actual – you know… yet. I’m, ah – I’m sorry, I just –”

“Fitz,” Jemma interjected, stopping him with a hand on his cheek. “I don’t want you to think I’m just waiting for us to be able to have sex again, or something. I want you to get better, no matter what that means or what that looks like. And I never want you to apologize for not being ready to have sex.”

“Then I’m sorry to me and not you,” he retorted, cheeks warming as he realized quite how snappish that had sounded. “‘Cause I want it, too, Jemma. I want you, too. And I miss it. But I’m just… I can’t yet, I can’t, I just can’t.” That familiar shaky feeling in his stomach began to spread as they talked about sex, as he thought about why he wasn’t ready, and he had to take a moment to breathe. Either seeing or sensing his bout of nerves, she stretched up to press their lips sweetly together. At her touch, the tension in his muscles eased, and when he opened his eyes again he was ready to propose his idea. “But I was thinking that, if it’s okay with you, I could go down on you. Tonight.”

Jemma’s jaw dropped open. “What?”

“I thought it might be a good, erm, first step. To, y’know. Try something more, um… intimate. Before we… do anything else.”

After studying his face for a long time, seemingly nonplussed, she pushed up into a sitting position, and he shoved himself quickly up after her. “Did you talk about it in therapy?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, trying not to feel resentful at the question. “Course I did. Doctor thought it was a good idea. S’long as we’re careful.”

She sighed and tugged absently at the hem of her shirt. “I don’t know, Fitz. I don’t want you to… to….”

 _Freak out? Panic? Be weak?_ he thought in response, although he didn’t voice any of that out loud. He knew she would argue vehemently with him on every point. The thought of her needing to be so worried about something as inconsequential as oral sex rankled at his sense of pride, even if he did understand and appreciate her concern. He had to remind himself that no kind of sex was inconsequential to them now, and that he knew exactly why he wasn’t able to rush into anything else. In part, though, her hesitation bothered him because as he’d turned it over in his head during the past few days, he’d become more than a little attached to the idea, to say the least.  

“Pressure yourself,” she finished eventually. “Or feel that I’m pressuring you. That’s the last thing I want.”

A reflexive smile ticked up the corner of his mouth, and he leaned in, smoothing his thumb against her cheek. “I promise I’m not. I just – want to.” He paused, tongue darting out to wet his lips, and her eyes flickered down to his mouth. “I miss hearing you come. Seeing you. Tasting you.” Her breath hitched, and he leaned in close enough that his lips and scruff brushed against the soft skin at the curve of her jaw when he spoke. “I can’t stop thinking about it. About you. What you looked like the last time we… what you sounded like. I want to try. We can stop if it’s not… right.” When he pulled back, he was pleased to see the way her pupils had dilated and she was biting hard into her bottom lip. A little voice in the back of his head preened that he’d won this pseudo-argument.

“Let’s wait a week,” Jemma said at last, her voice quiet and a mite hoarse. When he met her eyes, she cleared her throat and blinked a little more clarity into her gaze. “If you’re still ready then, we can try it.”

Although his pulse spiked in disappointment at the delay, he nodded and feathered a chaste kiss against her cheek. “Alright,” he said, giving her an affectionate smile. “A week. But I’m not gonna change my mind.”

~

For the first in a very long time, Leopold Fitz was not feeling anxious about sex.

Before him lay a very naked and very satisfied Jemma Simmons, legs splayed wide open and lips parted on a moan. He was busily pressing the flat of his tongue against her clit, making sure to wring every last shiver of pleasure from her body before he withdrew. When she had come mere seconds before, she’d cried out his name, natural English accent all throaty and rough from his ministrations, and for a second he’d thought he might come in his pants from the mere sound of her. He’d managed to keep himself together, but he was still hard as a rock where his hips were pressed against the mattress. Being able to distract himself by cataloguing every one of her sexy little shivers and whimpers was a blessing, really.

A week had passed, and sure enough Fitz’s eagerness to go down on his girlfriend hadn’t lessened. It had always been one of his favorite bedroom activities anyway, something about being able to make a brilliant, bossy woman with two PhDs lose control always having gotten him nearly as riled up as it pleased her. Jemma had been atypically shy and nearly hesitant, but that had faded as he’d worked his mouth against her, her hoarse cries becoming loud enough that he wondered briefly if they would get reprimanded for this. But that didn’t stop him from seeing how high he could raise her before letting her spin out over the edge, one hand digging into his arm and the other yanking sharply at the sheets as her orgasm crashed over her.

When she finally reached down to tug at his hair, signaling that he should stop, Fitz pushed himself up onto his knees. Wiping his mouth on the back of his undershirt sleeve, he let out a low sigh as his eyes trailed the length of her body, all pale curves and soft skin and basically everything he’d ever wanted. (He forced himself not to think about how close he'd come to losing her, over and over and over again.)

Jemma’s eyes blinked open, golden flecks just barely visible in the rings of deep brown, and searched out his face. With a warm smile, he lay down beside her, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder. His erection rubbed briefly against her hip and he let out a slow breath at the friction, even through his jeans and boxers.

“Are you okay?” she asked, needing to clear her voice mid-sentence.

Something warm and a little bittersweet spread through his chest at the fact that his response was her first concern, even in the after-haze of what seemed to have been an intense climax. He nodded, meeting her gaze as openly as he could. “Yeah. I didn’t – nothing happened. It was good.” Leaning in to trail his lips against her cheekbone, he smiled when a small tremor ran through her limbs. “Better than that, even.”

She let out a long sigh, one hand coming up to smooth against his triceps. “Good,” Jemma breathed, “thank goodness. I’m so proud of you.” He chuckled and she let out a small _tsk_. “That’s not what I – well, I mean, I’m… okay, I’m not sure _proud_ is quite the right word for it, but that, too…. Just, you know what I mean, Fitz,” she mumbled, halfway turning onto her side and scooting closer against him. As she moved, her lower abdomen pressed firmly against his erection, and he let out a low hiss, clenching his jaw. “I’m sorry,” she said, eyes widening in alarm, “did I –?”

“It’s okay,” he said gruffly, giving her a thin smile. “Just a bit – y’know. It’ll go away.”

Her hand tightened around his upper arm, mouth tilting slightly to the side in thought. “Would you like me to….”

As her fingers began to trail down his arm, alarm darted through Fitz and he reached quickly up to grab her wrist. “No,” he said sharply, shifting so that he was holding her hand affectionately rather than preventatively. “No, I don’t – want that. I know you want it to be fair, but no.” With alarm now etched across her features, he leaned forward to drop a kiss onto her nose, then her forehead, then her cheeks and jaw. “Not yet.”

“Okay,” she said at last, the pink in her cheeks now seeming more from embarrassment than exertion.

Wanting to return her to the peace of her post-coital lassitude, he gave her a slow, passionate kiss, wrapping his arm even more tightly around her. “I love you,” he murmured once they broke apart, gratified by the smile that spread across her face at his words.

“I love you,” she whispered back, settling into his hold. “Will you stay tonight? I know it’s a bit cramped, but –”

“Course I will.” Nudging his nose against hers, he rested his head next to her on the pillow. “Until the light settings switch over to day again, I’ll stay.”

Rather than respond, Jemma twisted their hands up to press a kiss to his knuckles, and Fitz couldn’t help but smile again as he watched her. As nervous as he had been, tonight’s experiment had been more than worthwhile, and its success boded well for their future – even if it might take quite a bit more time. Until then, they’d keep moving gradually closer together, until one day he could again feel her heart beating frantically against his in the aftermath, until he could force himself to stop thinking long enough to simply _be_ with Jemma, just as he’d always wanted.


End file.
